A/N: This story holds no pretension of adhering to historical or medical accuracy, geographical and physical limitations, or plain common sense. And thanks for all the feedback. Also, be warned that this chapter has some mild lime in it.

Wyldcat: As a certain best-seller author is fond of saying, RAFO. (Read And Find Out.)

Animelover: I'm still writing this on the fly, so you'll have to excuse any rough edge. (I know that I said that I would give it more thoughts, but…. Ok, I lied. Sue me.)

In truth, he didn't really know why he even decided to follow her in her escapade in the first place. Mayhap because he had a very good idea of what or who she was running from. He'd found it ironic, and faintly amusing then, that they should chance upon one another that night of all night. Fate, he learned long ago, was a mischievous creature. Mayhap, too, he hadn't been able to bear another woman's companionship any longer. Too many unwelcome memories there, and regrets.

She had been a convenient diversion. Nothing more.

Still, he would be dishonest with himself if he denied the prickle of disappointment he felt when he discovered them gone. He couldn't have said that he was particularly surprised. Lady Kaoru, he decided, was constant, and persistent, if nothing else.

But it didn't matter. He would seek her again in Kyoto. He simply couldn't leave her alone anymore, after hearing Soujiro's explanations. Lady Kaoru, it was obvious now, would stand in grave perils in the imperial city.

He tilted his face towards the ashen sky, tasted the cool pour trickling down his skin, down his neck. He felt strangely alive.

He began walking, threading among the trees, to avoid being completely drenched. He wasn't, despite his many flaws, a masochist. He would, he estimated, reach Kyoto by nightfall if he made haste. One could only hope that the lady Kaoru didn't get herself into more troubles till then. It wasn't outside the realm of possibilities, he mused. She was such an unpredictable woman.

It was some time after that he heard the hooves' beat coming from the opposite direction. He went to see. He didn't entirely know why he did, just that he felt compelled to do so.

He saw her. Her wet hairs wild in the rain, her sodden clothes clinging to her lithe body. And because he was a swordsman, and swordsmen were trained to notice such things, he saw the glimmer of relief run through her expression. He halted. They stared at each other.

"You took long enough," she said. It was the usual lady-to-servant tone she seemed to enjoy using when talking to him.

He felt happy, for some reason. And, looking at her almost transparent kimono revealing her slim yet sensual body, he felt a warmth of another kind. That of desire.

He smiled.

"Samurai-san!" a voice called suddenly. "Samurai-san!"

It was Soujiro's voice, he realized. Unexpected. He should have killed the boy, he thought. It wasn't like him to leave an enemy alive. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. It would have been pity to waste such talent. And it was as if a superior power had stayed his hand back then. One look at Soujiro's angelic smile, and all killing instincts had evaporated.

"Isn't that the man you just faced, Sir Shinta?" asked Megumi, clearly puzzled.

"Indeed," he acknowledged.

"Samurai-san!" the boy called again, waving. He was, Kenshin saw, leading two horses by the lead.

"No need to be so tense, samurai-san," the boy said, approaching, his usual smile plastered on his face.

Kenshin's hand flew to the hilt of his katana. "Do not try my patience."

"Don't be hasty, samurai san. I will make myself useful, I swear. Here, see, I brought us two horses."

Kenshin cocked an eyebrow. The boy's good humor was communicative. "Us?"

"Well," laughed Soujiro, "I can't really get back, now that you defeated me. Besides, you skills are really impressive! I hope you will teach them to me."

"Not a chance in hell." Kenshin walked to the boy's side, and whispered into his ear: "About what you told me. Not a word to the ladies."

Soujiro nodded. "Does that mean that I can come along?"

"I don't know how I could prevent you from doing so," sighed Kenshin, "short of killing you."

"Haha, you are so cold, samurai-san."

"Wait," the lady Kaoru interrupted. Kenshin allowed himself a private smirk. He knew what she was going to say even before she articulated it. "Who has decided that he can come with us?"

"Please don't be so cruel, my lady. I am sure you would want to be somewhere where you could dry yourself up and wait the storm out, right?" Soujiro grinned. "I just happen to know the place."

The lady snorted.

It was a small deserted farm, sitting among a thawing field that still bore wounds of ice. The thunderstorm raged outside, splattering loudly on the thatched roof. A fire frolicked in the hearth, and a warm light danced over the wooden walls. Kaoru could smell the faint scent of burned cedar; it made her dizzy.

The house harbored signs of recent occupation. The place was clean and tidy, and unsoiled food could still be found in the small but neat kitchen. They found clothes of all genres too, lying around, unkempt. Unfortunately, those were all men's garments. At least, Kaoru thought, nibbling on a hastily prepared tempura, they were dry. It was all she could ask for. Kneeling before the iron kettle suspended over the charcoal fire, a too large kimono floating around her, she felt warm and fuzzy, almost languorous.

"Keep still," Megumi was saying. She was treating the always-smiling samurai—his name was Soujiro, or so she gathered. He was, Kaoru could clearly see, bleeding quite profusely from the deep gash in his left shoulder. She winced, hurting for the boy, even if he showed no sign of pain at all.

She stole a glance at Shinta. He was resting against the wall, one knee bent before him, his sword nestled on his shoulder. He was, she realized, slowly dozing off. How very rude. Wasn't he aware that it wasn't something one did in the presence of a lady of her quality? It confirmed her assertion of him. As if she needed confirmation.

"Ouch, ouch," Soujiro cried. "That hurt! Don't be so hard on me, fox lady."

"Fox lady?" Megumi squeezed him harder. He yowled. "Watch your tongue, boy," her maid said, flinging her hair.

"All right, all right, fo… I mean dear lady. Just be quick, please. If I lose any more blood I might pass out." He eyed her from bottom to top. "If I do, maybe you could cradle me on those thighs of yours. They look really soft."

Megumi pressed his wound. Blood squirted out. He collapsed… right on her thighs.

"That was really cruel," he moaned. "Hmm, I was right after all," he murmured dreamily. "They are so soft."

"Boy you…."

Kaoru giggled. Beside her, Shinta stirred. She looked at him. "Are you finished napping, sir?" she asked with as much hauteur as she could muster. It wasn't much, in truth. She was too tired and too cozy to really give it a good try.

He regarded her in silence, shadows dancing over his visage. The wind waggled against the wooden door. He looked oddly quiet and peaceful right now. His eyes, Kaoru thought, had all the seeming of a demon's that was dreaming. She took another bowl of tempura, and walked over to him.

"Here," she said, kneeling by him. He took the bowl. "I made it myself," she declared proudly.

He tasted it. He smirked. "You aren't used to preparing food, I take it."

How she wished she could wipe off that obnoxious smirk off his face. Think of a witty reply, Kaoru. Witty reply. "Why did you say that?" Witty indeed. Way to go, Kaoru.

"Nothing," Shinta replied, shaking his head. He actually chuckled. "I didn't mean to offend you, my lady." He took another bite. "This is actually edible," he judged.

Edib…. Had she just been insulted? That demanded reparations. The nerve of him, to…. Something caught her eyes.

"You are injured, sir," she exclaimed softly. Her hand brushed over his right shoulder. It drew traces of blood. "Let me attend to your wound." She was feeling snug and warm. No, more than warm. The hearth's heat must be getting at her, she thought.

"There is no need," he said. He looked casually at his shoulder. "A small scratch. It will heal in no time."

"I insist." She gripped his gi, sliding it off his shoulder. "Even if it's a small wound, it might still get infected. You never know. Besides," she said, breathing into his ear, "You saw me naked in the hot springs. It is time to even things out somewhat." She didn't know why she was teasing him. She was feeling very lightheaded.

The dim light skulked over his now bared skin, drawing wild patterns. He might be slim, but his muscles were firm and sculpted, she noted with satisfaction. She trailed a finger over his hard pectoral, grazing a nipple. She felt him tense, draw in a sharp breath. Good. So he wasn't made of stone after all, under his mask of ice. His skin was smooth and cool under her touch. Her finger traveled over to his wound, a horizontal cut of about four inch long. She wiped off scarlet drops of it.

She put her finger in her mouth. His blood, she mused, tasted like bitter copper. She giggled.

"Are you well, my lady?" he asked, worry plain in those fascinating eyes. They were so violet.

"I am perfectly fine, thank you," she hummed. It sounded like a purr to her ears. She batted shyly her eyelashes. She was perfectly fine. She'd never felt as fine as she did right now. Her body burned, feverish.

She took a bowl of water lying nearby, and came back to his sides. She washed the blood off his wound, making sure her fingers would linger over him now and then, as if unconsciously, tantalizing him as best she could. He was so very near. His subtle scent invaded her senses. His warm breath swept over her neck, pricking her skin. Her heart raced hard with excitement against her chest. Her mind was afire. Each time their skin touched, a tingling sensation sparkled through her body. His breathing, she noticed, was becoming increasingly hard and uneven.

She heard a soft moan. It was her own.

"Are you sure all is well, my lady?"

She turned her head, ready to reassure him that she absolutely fine. Her lips grazed against his. The brief contact sent shivers down her spine. She jerked her head back slightly. Their noses were almost touching. His eyes, she realized, were angry. Faintly, she became conscious that she was sweating.

He gripped her wrist, his finger clawing into her flesh. "Do not," he uttered threateningly, "start something you do not intend to finish."

She tilted her chin, smiled lazily. Her vision was starting to waver. Strange. "I always finish what I start," she cooed. "A personal rule of mine."

A thunder rolled by. A sudden gust of wind battered the wooden door. The room spun around her.

"My lady," he called, as if from a great distance. "My lady!" The room toppled over.

His voice was the last thing she remembered, before everything sank into the dark.

Notes: I borrowed a line from Poe's famous poem "The Raven": …and his eyes have all the seeming of a demon's that is dreaming,…

I actually wrote three versions of this chapter. The original was lime-free, but I got inspired by some fics I'm reading, and wrote an M-ish one. I was going to post it and bump up the rating, but decided against it at the last moment, so I wrote this one instead.